


Lead Us Not Into Temptation

by walkwithursus



Series: The Lord's Prayer [1]
Category: Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Religion, Sexual Repression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-13 10:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus
Summary: To Toffler, “I know what you’re doing” translates to “God knows you’re a pervert and so do I."





	1. Caught

Toffler watches him chop wood.

Under the guise of reading or writing he sits outside, venturing no closer than the front porch of the barracks as Reich labors away at the block. They don't greet one another. There's no acknowledgement of their company together, and to the untrained eye Toffler's head stays buried in his little leather notebook. But a good soldier like Reich knows when he's being watched.

He doesn't object to an audience, particularly one as silent and discerning as Toffler. It takes a lot to catch his attention and even more to catch him looking. For that reason and others, Reich strips to the waist well into the Winter months. His hard body glistens with cold sweat.

When Toffler joins him outside one morning without his book, Reich can't help but call attention to it. 

"I know what you're doing," he says, just loud enough to be heard over the wind. 

Toffler starts like a wild animal. His lips part and he tries to form words, but the sound doesn't carry across the courtyard. Smirking, Reich places a fresh log on the chopping block.

"Do you like what you see?"

Toffler's huge, brown eyes expand like a doe caught in the cross-hairs. His ears and cheeks burn pink, and he mumbles an apology as he stands and fumbles his way back inside the barracks. Reich watches him go with consideration before bringing the ax down in a powerful arc. 

Toffler doesn't watch him chop wood anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Toffler, “I know what you’re doing” translates to “God knows you’re a pervert and so do I."


	2. Service

_"Reich, go find some kitchen shears and cut Toffler's hair. We have a new captain coming any day now. I'd like for us all to look presentable."_

Colonel Hart delivers the order en route to his office. When he hears this, Toffler's breath catches in his throat and he stumbles after him, stammering protests that fall on deaf ears. By the time the colonel shuts the door in his face Reich has appeared on the other side of the parlor, grinning in anticipation.

They set up in the kitchen. Toffler perches on the very edge of one of the rickety stools as Reich assumes the position of barber behind him. 

"How short do you want it?" He asks. "My length?" Toffler whips around and stares apprehensively at the blond man's closely-cropped cut. Reich rolls his eyes and turns his head forcibly forward again. "Relax. I was kidding."

Toffler holds his breath as Reich drags a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. His touch is rough, but not painful, and in truth the blunt ends of his fingernails feel good against the scalp. As the scissors start snipping near the base of his neck Toffler flinches, but the soldier's steady hand does not waver. 

When he finishes with the back, Reich walks around the stool to trim the front. Face to face, Toffler watches the progress of Reich's hands as they travel across his forehead to divert himself. Reich eventually catches his eye and orders him to stop wincing. 

After what feels like an hour, Reich pulls a final curl taut and snips it. "Done," he announces, and he dismisses Toffler with a hard slap on the back. Toffler hops quickly off the stool and staggers a few steps out of reach before he can be hit again. Reich smirks after him. "What, no 'thank you?'"

Toffler bows his head and mumbles something akin to _God Bless_.

That night, Toffler catches a glimpse of himself in the single mirror hanging up in the barracks. To his surprise, his hair looks more or less the same as it did when he first arrived at Fort Spencer. Short, simple, and within regulation. Toffler smiles tentatively at his reflection and reminds himself to properly thank Reich another day.


	3. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #dubcon

They kiss and fumble in the dark. 

It's never gone this far before. A lingering look, an accidental touch, such things are familiar territory. But on this night Reich had happened upon him alone in the barracks, and before Toffler fully knew what was happening the man had crossed the floor and seized him in a lover's embrace. It was impulse that made Toffler kiss him back. Instinct. He's only a man after all, made in God’s image but poisoned by sin. 

Toffler is inexperienced, but Reich is practiced enough for them both, guiding him through the kiss as though it were as natural as breathing. He thinks that they should stop, _knows_ that they should stop, but Reich is unyielding. Toffler can barely catch a breath, let alone voice a complaint that might penetrate the soldier's consciousness. And even if he could, his body betrays him, weak, wanting, and overwhelmed by each sensation; Reich's hand on his throat, Reich's tongue in his mouth, Reich's leg grinding up between his spread thighs. The blond man's hands slip from his neck to his shoulders, and with insistent pressure he attempts to turn Toffler’s body to face the wall. Recognizing his intent, Toffler freezes in place. They've gone too far. It feels as though he’s swallowed snow melt and his throat unsticks with a hoarse sucking sound. 

“Reich, s-...top. Stop, wait - ” 

Deaf to his pleas, Reich flips him around and presses flush against him, front to back. Toffler groans as his chest strikes the wall, knocking the air from his lungs. There’s a firm hand between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place as another fumbles at the waistband of his trousers. His belt hits the floor.

“Oh, Jesus. Oh, God,” Toffler whimpers. He bows his head and begins to pray. _Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou..._ Hot breath ghosts across the back of his neck and his scalp tingles. Toffler’s cheek digs into the wood as Reich pushes closer, and he can feel the full length of the man behind him, rutting slow and dirty against his clothed body as though he were a common whore. Reich groans a string of obscenities into the soft spot under his earlobe and Toffler chants faster in his head. _Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death..._

The hand on his back suddenly disappears. Toffler can hear the unmistakable jingle of Reich's belt latch, and fresh panic washes over him. With the weight on his shoulders lifted Toffler whips around and grasps Reich by the upper arms, holding him at bay. Undeterred, Reich tries to reclaim his lips in a kiss, but Toffler jerks away from the contact. “Please” he says, squeezing his fingers into Reich’s biceps for emphasis. “Please I-... I _can’t._ ”

Mercifully, Reich pauses. Their eyes meet, wild blue searching frightened brown for some semblance of explanation. Toffler takes a shuddering breath and shakes his head, mouths the words _‘I can’t’_ over and over until they blend together and lose their meaning. Reich watches him silently before leaning in again, this time slow, controlled, until his forehead comes to rest against Toffler’s and their noses barely touch. Panted breaths mingle in the space between them as he voices a single, strained question aloud:

“Are you sure?” 

Toffler’s heart is pounding in his throat. Incapable of speaking, he can only nod, a movement that brings their lips closer together one final time. Reich inhales through his nostrils, jaw working back and forth as he considers the chaplain’s rejection. After a small eternity he lets one hand fall from the wall, then the other, effectively releasing Toffler from the prison of his arms. 

Toffler’s knees wobble precariously and he collapses halfway to the ground. Reich towers over him, a dark shape, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and buckling his belt one-handed. Toffler tries to speak, to make a sound, to communicate something - _anything_ that will rectify the situation they’ve now found themselves in. 

Reich silences him with a look and shoulders out into the falling snow.


	4. Forgiveness

Toffler is outside shoveling a footpath through the snow. It’s the first time Reich has laid eyes on him since their encounter the night before, and he stops loudly in his tracks as he rounds the corner of a building. Their eyes meet briefly across the courtyard, and Reich has just enough time to register the look of surprise in the other man’s expression before Toffler has turned heel to march in the direction of the stables. Reich drops the stack of wood he'd been carrying and follows suit. 

“Toffler. _Toffler.”_

The chaplain’s pace quickens, and his boots skid on the old ice crust. Reich navigates the same path with ease and quickly overtakes him outside the double doors of the barn. He grasps him by the elbow, but Toffler shakes him off violently as he whips around, chin raised and eyes flashing. 

“I need to talk to you. Alone,” Reich says at a low volume. “Can we go for a walk?” 

“N-...N- _no._ ” Is Toffler’s firm reply. His fingers clench on the handle of the shovel and he attempts to shoulder past Reich and back toward his unfinished walkway. Desperate, and thinking fast, Reich spins Toffler around and shoves him hurriedly through the swinging barn doors. He spares a sweeping glance around the deserted courtyard before slipping in after him. 

Inside, the barn is dark and empty. Weak grey light floods the space through the occasional hole in the wood slats. The doors have barely banged shut behind the two men before Toffler has thrown the shovel in Reich's direction and charged for the exit. Reich pivots to avoid the shovel and wraps both arms around Toffler’s midsection before he can escape. They struggle, pushing and pulling at one another until Reich is able to shove Toffler away, as far from the door as he can manage. They come to stand a few feet apart, panting, and Reich quickly throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

“Just listen to me, alright?” Reich says, his chest rising and falling dramatically with each breath. “I just want to talk. I’ll move away from the door and everything. You’re free to go, just, _please,_ hear me out first.” When Toffler doesn’t immediately respond Reich seizes the opportunity to continue. “I know you’re angry. I don’t blame you, what happened last night was inexcusable. I'd tell you I don't know what came over me, but that's... There’s no justifying it.” 

Reich pauses. There are explanations, of course, sentiments on the tip of his tongue that crave to be spoken. The warmth he feels when Toffler walks into a room and the fear he feels when he leaves it, the constant, crushing need to be near him that keeps Reich tethered like a dog on a leash. Still stronger is the forbidden, consuming desire that has built steadily within him these past few months, only to burst forth like a striking snake in one momentary lapse of control. Reich swallows these confessions and voices an apology instead. 

“I need you to know how sorry I am,” he grits out, holding Toffler’s gaze with a pleading intensity. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just need you to know.”

The barn falls silent. Toffler stands in shadow, unspeaking and unmoving, and Reich waits with bated breath for the man's rebuke. After a long minute Toffler approaches him, his jaw set and expression impassive in the slatted grey light. With scarcely a foot between them, Toffler stoops to pick up the fallen snow shovel. When he straightens, they are almost of a height. 

“I forgive you,” Toffler says. His eyes are as flat as his voice as he delivers the words. 

Reich cannot tell if he means them.


End file.
